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Post by Krakenbox on Oct 10, 2020 18:18:22 GMT -8
Imbued with the confidence of personification, Oren has no issues socializing on the scene. Inspire was on the grungier side; nothing too fancy, but intense with surgery, revealing outfits, desperate sweat, and running makeup. Passes were made, and he digs a little deeper between offered drinks and brushing bodies about where the real fun can be found. A friendly pair of club kids pass a bottle of water between then, the woman in acid green fishnets underneath a set that barely qualified as shorts. You're not entirely sure how the sequins stay on her painted red lips, but she's got a million dollar smile that distracts from how pale, gaunt and owlish her eyes have gotten in her commitment to fun. Didn't take away from her chest at least, boosted with silicon that were barely contained in crop top. Her male companion wore a mesh t-shirt and leather pants, eyebrows painted into black points underneath the sheen of white and extreme gothic-shaded cheekbones. "What are you looking for?" he asked, once Madam Neon introduced Oren.
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Post by Kai Rose on Oct 10, 2020 23:40:51 GMT -8
Nice. As Kai got her shit together and focused up, Oren had taken care of business -- finding them a dealer, who looked like the lead singer of Blutangel or any number of other German bands. She did her piece. Flashing a smile in her approachable way as she drew air and all manner of the man's hatred in through her nose, she said, "You got that new stuff, hmm...? The pink juice?" She smiled, a beautiful thing as she played the game and flashed a bit of cash.
She didn't make a ton, but hey. It was enough.
After all, the drug was just the beginning. Whatever she needed to know about his hate to work him, she'd know soon enough.
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Post by Krakenbox on Oct 11, 2020 21:52:35 GMT -8
"That's a new one," the lady laughed, "I was calling it Pink Lemonade."
The metallic knot of wrath swirls its way through the emotions of the city, shimmering behind the glamour like rising heat off the pavement. A flicker of uniforms, a boot on a friend's neck, another crying about how she was grabbed during a Wellness Check, his mother turning pale when asked if she liked to be hit by her boyfriends. Though no personal slight flowed from the emotion, the man clearly hated police, and a slew of incidences and faces flow from the narrative.
German Industrial tilts his head at the cash, nodding towards the exit where some of the clubbers smoked or took five out of the crush of dancers. Madam Neon chills with the drinks, likely keeping point and signal to the bartender that the tab wasn't being bailed on——no one really cared unless you didn't at least try to take it off premises.
With a discreet exchange, he quickly thumbs the bills, before sliding the dropper into Kai's hands. "How much experience you got?" he floats to the pair of Lost. Apparently this dealer was a bona fide pharmacist.
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Oren
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written by Hiver
Posts: 242
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Post by Oren on Oct 12, 2020 10:36:34 GMT -8
In order to master Menippus and the slew of obscure Akkadian comedies written in the most obtuse tongues, Oren had to lose his mind. He had to drink deep in order to dispel any notion of the self, so that he could be filled with the ecstasy of Diipanii and her mystic pupils in the throes of Dionysia.
So, yes, in a way, Oren was very experienced. He favored the Method, after all.
"Little bit of this, little bit of that. Tolerance has a completely different meaning where I come from."
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Post by Kai Rose on Oct 13, 2020 9:58:15 GMT -8
The whiff of rage at the red and blue machine flashed imagery and knowledge into Kai's mind -- god, this man hated the cops. Came by it honestly, too, by the sounds of it. That was something she could use...
She put the drug away in her pocket... and with a little flick of her Will, she targeted the rage at the people who he was dealing Pink Lemonade for. She didn't whisper the words to make it violent, not yet, but these people were fucking him. Instinctively, he knew it now, the Sculptor's grim work done. What would he give to fuck these people over? Surely names. Surely locations. Surely something she could use. It was trite to say that everyone in the underworld Hated A Snitch, but when you hated them?
What if nobody ever found out? Her line of questioning was now laid bare in her mind.
"Not enough," she said coyly, a playful smile flicking across her face. "Maybe you can help us with that. What's the high like... and are there any side effects I should be worried about?"
Perhaps with his loyalties compromised, he'd be more forthcoming about the downsides.
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Post by Krakenbox on Oct 13, 2020 14:07:20 GMT -8
The man's attention seems unfocused for a moment, frown deepening as he mulled something. "Make sure you've got something on standby for the drop," he said to Oren. "It doesn't happen to everyone, but some have said it can be worse than molly. No side effects with it otherwise, though. You won't get dehydrated. I've driven just fine, and there doesn't seem to be a test for it if you get dragged."
He scratches his nose before smoothing the pale concealer back over his regular skin tone. "The high is hard to describe. It's like you didn't exist before, and now you do. Not the same as other psychoactives. You don't hallucinate none, doesn't make you sick, you just really see the world, you know?" He shrugged, "Some people get depressed after. They get poetic, saying it's like you weren't really here in the first place. I've seen some come out of being suicidal, gives them a new perspective. If you're already having a hard time connecting, this'll probably help."
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Oren
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written by Hiver
Posts: 242
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Post by Oren on Oct 14, 2020 0:49:57 GMT -8
"I always have something."
If Oren were to look at himself, he would see a tangle of disjointed pieces and patchwork countenances. Paradoxically, he was the sum of these mismatched parts. A composite made of disparates, ranging from either ends, to the pits of a middle ground, in terms of disposition and history and temperament and raison d'être.
Maybe this would sew him together; smooth out the ridges that separate Who He Is Now from all of Whom He Has Been.
"Show me a good time."
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Post by Kai Rose on Oct 14, 2020 9:27:17 GMT -8
A scientific mind whipped about, assessing the information he was presenting her in rapid-fire calculations about how the science of it all worked. It didn't exactly seem like a great idea to Kai for her to be experimenting with unknown drugs as she was in the midst of running an interrogation. On the other hand, Oren being cool and Doing the Drug might loosen the guy up further. She gave the Elemental a shrug, like it was his call, and said, "Looks like you've got a taker right now. I'll keep this one for later." She flashed the guy a smile, offering him a bit more for a second dose and putting the other one away.
As the dealer went about his work with her partner, Kai asked him, "You good, man...?" A concerned smile crossed her face, like she'd read the change in feeling. Of course she had. She put it there. She radiated trustworthiness in that moment, the kind of stranger you'd want to open up to. With Oren doing the drug, she figured they looked Into It enough to not look like narcs.
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Post by Krakenbox on Oct 14, 2020 21:44:44 GMT -8
Among the Lost, the Elemental experience is a unique one. To be diffused into a force is dehumanizing, but also unfettered. The freedom of becoming Power is indescribable——destruction is sanctified, and being asked to be less is inherently insane. The body was a shell of the former self, a container for the soul that some would call a trap, when teetering on the edge of the Arcadian fantasy. Transition was a shock to the system, and a continued game of balance that their peers only understood from their own trappings. For most Changelings, the Rose was more than a sweet memory, anchoring them in the moment instead of a waking dream. And here Oren was, painfully aware of the lie of it all. The drop hitting his cornea was a hammer hitting a gong, an immediate surge of feeling as Reality solidified in a manner that was beyond. The lights of the club splintered into a spectrum, the air held weight with the pulse of forces lived, but now only felt. Textures on the skin served as a reminder, the cage splitting threefold: a mundane world that the Torrent couldn't exist, the armour of the Mask, the case of the mien. His soul had been eroded, polished featureless and thin. It would crack from another wipe, fragile without the desperate Thread of being seen, when there was nothing to see. Reality mocked him. He could see the wall. Was it of his own making? Or was he powerless in his Keeper's Design?
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Post by Krakenbox on Oct 14, 2020 22:13:46 GMT -8
The dealer looks almost apologetic as Kai flashes the cash. "This is my last dose, so," he looks at her expectantly. It isn't malicious, just business. Oren had only used a drop and have a couple more rounds, it seemed.
He had the look of a space cadet seeing God.
The Elemental's eyes shimmered with an energy that was subtle, but definitely not natural. Kai's assessment shows that the chemical sounds similar to ecstasy and maybe shrooms, but the lack of side effects sounds like a load of bullshit. Or something beyond street level drugs is in play.
He didn't seem surprised at the question, the Wizened appearing friendly enough. "Thinking over my options," he frowned. It was weird to talk about this to the people you just sold to. "Just take your time with that stuff. It's pretty popular, so there's some rumours now about how some people get fucked up. Not an overdose: I haven't heard about anyone getting sick, even when they go for the whole bottle. It's the crash. There's some shit about not being able to feel anymore, like shit out of an urban legend," he snorted.
"Junkies, though. I think it depends on how your body's set up." He sounded equal parts guilty and annoyed.
"I don't like peddling the shit that ruins your life, you know? I just sell a party. Nothing nuts. Hearing that makes me upset, but I haven't seen it, and I got a quota to meet, so."
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Post by Kai Rose on Oct 14, 2020 22:35:20 GMT -8
Kai's eyebrows popped as she peered at the Elemental for a long moment, her lips parting in confusion as she slid the cash back into her pockets. An exercise of Will dragged the lie of the Mask to the forefront, pulling the magical world to the forefront as she peered at the drug vial and her companion. The obvious path here was that when shit didn't make sense mundanely, you had to look beyond. Even a grunt of the Iron Spear knew that. The supernatural sight of Kenning would reveal perfect Truth to her.
The rumors he revealed were additionally concerning and potentially the kind of shit that would get Winter involved. That got her attention. "Man, I don't mean to suggest anything untoward, but... that sounds legitimately scary. You think your bosses might be bullshitting you about what this really does?"
The look of concern writ on her face said plenty, the lead floated, but it wasn't her finest work. His face turned dismissive, he turned on his heel about to leave -- NO
-- and then the heel turned back, the dismissive face went back to normal, her words floated back into her mouth, and she was right there again, listening to him talk about the shit about not being able to feel any more. What?! What the fuck had he just sold her friend?!
Kai's colors turned from roses and nice blues to sharp, crimson red as anger flared and her Mantle pulsed and --
"Motherfucker, WHAT?! No. Fuck no. You don't get to act innocent when you knew about that shit. You're as guilty as they are, aren't you?!" She snapped out a toward him, her face writ in a rictus of pure rage as she hissed in a whisper, "Listen here, you rat fuck. I will gut you like a fish if you don't start talking now about who the motherfuckers who produce this from are and where I can find them. Now, TALK!"
In that moment, Kai Rose was gone. The Mind Sculptor was here, and she knew fear.
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Oren
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written by Hiver
Posts: 242
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Post by Oren on Oct 15, 2020 12:05:28 GMT -8
Oren, enraptured. Oren, held aloft. Oren, reminded of his shaping; cramping; shaving; cutting; molding; tearing. In escape, Reality cloaked him; choked him; housed him. To sip of this nectar was to reacquaint himself with the tumultuousness of his becoming. Places, places! We're on in three! Dancer and prancers will bleed with glee!
There's a revolution going on inside of you....
It was walking on stage, only to be blasted with stellar light, the audience and technology both great luminous eyes. Those eyes demanded satisfaction. Greed, lust, and wonder, his greatest patronage. If he could only just...
Kai was mad. It rippled across his flesh like waves of heat. The spurned lover. The blood-soaked berserker. The lowly serf brought low under the steel boot of lords. These were all receptacles of fury. Which one was she? All? Neither?
He smiled at Madam Neon, occupying the space. Filling the air. Presence was...an afterthought. This was rote, despite the screaming that roiled beneath. An actor veils the truth in favor of another. He would quell the fire before it burned. Pull focus. Enrapture.
"What do you love most in the world?"
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Post by Krakenbox on Oct 15, 2020 22:55:13 GMT -8
The twists are revealed, cracking along the surface as the vial became alight in a galaxy of atoms and ideas: science and magic become one on this side of the tracks. It was just as integrated as any Changeling, not battling against time to simply exist, synthesized as an anchor. This was woven by the hand of a true artist. Oren melted into the scene as well, aura heightened, his Mask almost harsh with the light of glamour shimmering beneath. The gorgeous statue ate up the spotlight, pulling the woman into the role as if his words were somehow so poetic. She gasped in wonder, thinking with eyes blown like a deer meeting destiny with a charging light. "What do I..." she rubbed her arms for inspiration, reveling in the texture of the glitter, "The smell of gasoline at three AM," she buzzed, lost in thought of another adventure, tugging at the Elemental's arm excitedly. "Do you race?" she whispered, leaning in.
It took some focus for him to ignore the familiarity of the glass enforcer, peeling away the behaviour that just wouldn't do, her voice ringing like the chime of a tuning fork as the situation was brought in line to her vision. The dealer's face went from blank shock to a trembling wave that spread across his body, eyes welling as his instincts told him this was where he died, to some crazy bitch outside a club. The sound that came out of his mouth was a primal yowl before he strung it together to get her off of him.
"S-shh she's some lady who cooked for the Crips. Fuck. Don't hurt me!" he begged, "She made it before they got busted. Ambrosia. Street th-tha thugs. They made a new branch on their own. Diamonds," he explained, tapping next to his eye like that was supposed to make sense. "It's with the Wa Ching anyway. Mexicans too. So much f-for exclusive. The fuck do you care?" he hunched as if to protect his neck, "She's out of Naked City, the storage units. I don't know specifically I'm just a fucking guy."
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Post by Kai Rose on Oct 16, 2020 9:43:09 GMT -8
The Wizened leaned ever closer, all traces of approachability gone and replaced by a simmering rage. Her hiss was even quieter. "Do you really want to be curious about why I hate them? Or do you just want to see them get what's coming to them?" Her sneer curled slowly upward in a cruel, meaningful smile. It was a play on his emotions, an opportunity for him to see the out that was there that served his newfound interest in seeing them fall, too... all he had to do was help her. All he had to do was give in to his wrath. She had crossed them with the lack of exclusivity? Cool. "Naked City, huh? Keep talking. Where do I find someone who knows how to find this... Ambrosia?"This was his chance to get out of shit. Her eyes bored into his, watching for any hint of trickery, watching for any hint of getting it.
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Oren
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written by Hiver
Posts: 242
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Post by Oren on Oct 16, 2020 17:21:35 GMT -8
"In my hometown, dragsters were like rock stars. Leather jackets for armor. Decals for coats of arms. Manual gears for swords and shaker scoops for horses...."
He would regale her of rugged racers in polarized shades and obscured by cigar smoke. Checkered flags and tire marks scored into the asphalt. Pit crews with bullet wounds. Police sirens and halogen lights, the war horns of two calvary on the verge of collision. In truth, he was recalling the events of Fast & Furious, with some modern-day embellishments of Ben Hur, with a sprinkling of The Flights of Bespoke Mercury. All of this wrapped up in the story of a little boy from Detroit who wanted nothing more than to be where his father sat, hands gripping the wheel and terminal velocity blasting his thoughts to the very back of his skull. A romance of rubber and brushed steel. A tragedy of youth in revolt.
"I never got the chance. I miss it. Would you bring me? Would you show me around?"
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